Monsters and Men: Bound
by ShadowThorne
Summary: The first war has just ended and the Fallen Deidad has finished his self imposed task. Now he's ready to rejoin his followers but an evil and malevolent man has other plans for the physically and emotionally worn out creature once known as La Pantera.


**Firstly; I apologize for how long I'm taking to update at the moment...Please bear with me for a little longer...**

**Now, about the following oneshot; This event takes place YEARS (like several hundred) before the main story line of _Monsters and Men_. It also takes place over the course of several years, just so you have a rough idea of how the timeline works (since it get's a little confusing in parts)**

**Anyway~ Enjoy!  
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><p>The first of the season's snow fell in lazy, thick flakes, creating an illusion of fog and dampening the silent, desolate field. Winter had arrived earlier than was normal, but it was befitting of the somber setting. The horizon was grey, the sky above a matching color and the ground working it's way to being colorless as well, though it still held on almost desperately to the stains that soaked it's surface. The sun struggled to pierce the falling snow but did little in the way of brightening the earth or atmosphere, as if it didn't wish to shed light on the night's dark deeds. No birds cried out, no animals rustled through what was left of the foliage and underbrush. No scavengers dared near the area, no carrion eaters picked for bones, no hungry predators stalked the clearing. Nothing stirred. Nothing lived.<p>

Vivid, inhuman eyes easily peered through the falling barrier that acted as a funeral shroud of white precipitation. Even had the intense orbs lacked the keenness of the beast's given heritage, the very memories of the nightmarish seen would have guided the once mighty creature. Unearthly cyan, dulled by pain, grief, regret and too many other emotions that a mere monster would not have felt, searched the desolate battle field. He searched out every last one; the men, women and even children that had died fighting, the bodies of the humans that had fallen in his name.

They had not faltered in the face of their enemy and ultimately their death. As strong and determined as the untamed creature they worshipped, they had refused to back down until victory had been assured. Their sacrifice had been necessary, but not executed without dire consequence, a consequence they willingly and faithfully accepted.

Grave after grave had been dug by strong, clawed hands. Even as the earth began to freeze with the cold, he refused to cease his incessant burying. The bodies were laid gently at the bottom of each pit, the meager weight of each corpse enough to make the feline's damaged and battle weary body shake under the strain. Families were kept together, those that were recognizable at any rate. Those that had no family were given no less respect as those that had loved ones, for he had cared a great deal for his followers. Even the horribly mangled bodies, some so grievously torn and injured that they were hardly recognizable as human, were given proper and personal burial. Each body lay facing the same destination, their faces turned to ever look toward the temple they had once come to in order to worship their deity. The loosened soil was pushed back to fill the tombs, creating slopping mounds for miles around. Thousands had died, maybe more, sacrificing themselves at his asking and bidding so that their species would have a chance to flourish in the future.

Hardly able to drag himself from his knees, the feline deidad finally let his vision drop to the blood drenched soil below him. Inhuman orbs, reflecting far too many 'human' emotions, closed briefly as the werepanther stumbled and dragged himself forward, headed in the very direction that all of his dead and buried followers now faced.

It was only right that he followed them into the afterlife, sitting upon the throne they had gifted him with so long ago and taking his place as their deidad, both in life and in death.

He had fought alongside them and his wounds had been no less grievous than those suffered by his followers, the only thing that kept him going was that his body was not human and his will had been unbreakable in his determination. In the end, he too had fallen to the cold earth and been left to die in the blood that pooled below him, blood from himself and the humans around him, the blood of friend and foe alike. But he had refused to stay down, not until his followers were honored in a manner befitting their loyalty one last time.

Now he stumbled and crawled between the raised mounds that would forever incase his humans, body quivering with fatigue he would not recover from and once shining eyes dulled after seeing more than he would have ever wished. He knew the way by heart and by instinct. His temple called to him, beckoning it's master to perch upon the throne it housed one last and final time, never again to leave it's embrace. The creature, black as midnight and the death that surrounded him, panted silently as he slowly ascended the raised dais that held his twisted and blood drenched throne. Blood and mud saturated hands gripped the arm rests. Using the solid structure's unyielding frame, the werecreature hulled himself into a sitting position on the imposing and devastatingly regal throne, carved into the visage of twisted bone to reflect it's once wild and indomitable occupant.

He sat, his head bowed and chin resting on his weakly clenched fist, staring sightlessly for what may have been days or minutes, maybe it was years. How was a deidad that had lived for centuries to know? The creature focused on nothing but the sound of war cries and the clash between monsters and men, on the pained screams and death throes that rang in his mind and the stuttering, irregular beat of his once fiercely strong heart. He knew he had Fallen, he had felt it ripped from his being as he sank to the earth, the last being to fall in the defense of the human race. Not even a human himself, the werecreature had sacrificed everything for a species not his own. He accepted that his reign was over and was so very tired of watching those he came to know die for him, because of him. And now, he wished for death, waited for an end that would hopefully reunite him with his followers.

As the creature's hauntingly gorgeous eyes finally fell closed, and his lungs struggled to pull in the air that would make up his last breath, the once-deidad weakly curled in on himself, pulling his legs under his body and flicking his slim tail to rest across the seat of the throne. His head came to rest on his crossed forearms, ears no longer held in an alert posture but falling back in his crushing remorse.

An ever so slight smirk pulled at the corners of feline lips, a genuine smile, as the creature listened to the last thump of his own heart. Finally, he would be able to apologize to his humans for failing them...

...and thank them for all they had given him.

"Grimmjow"

The word, a name and command laced with power, pulled on a dwindling conscience. A sharp stab of pain sent lightening across the once-deidad's mind and through his skull. It was his name, spoken with a declaration of ownership by a man, a mere mortal of great and terrible power. Cerulean eyes napped open in the dark, glowing with an intense and instinctive hatred and dread. He resisted the call, the figurative leash and collar that was wound around his throat until it threatened to strangle him. He was not meant for servitude, he was not someone's tamed plaything.

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez... Once known as La Pantera..." The voice, calm and without emotion, was a cold whisper, volume not needed for the powerful Caster to pull the weakened creature toward him. "You are mine now."

Grimmjow found the strength to lift his head to the sky and let loose a yowling cry of pain and anguish as his faded and diminished strength crumbled. He fought with everything he had left but it wasn't a battle of muscle or even of cunning, but a battle of will and magic. And his will to even so much as live had been sapped and drained with the great battle, it was buried deep below the earth with his followers.

The feline bared his glistening fangs and howled his denial again, his deep, snarling voice echoing through the forest beyond his temple, the forest that had only been starting to grow when he had finally dragged himself through the arched door way to succumb to his wounds and grief. As his body betrayed him, uncurling it's self and climbing from the throne of twisted bone, Grimmjow let loose another devastated and fear filled, rumbling howl.

Animals, predator and prey alike, ducked and scampered from the surrounding forest with his sky shattering screams. Deer fled their early morning feeding grounds and birds screeched as they took to the sky with fright. Miles away, stormy grey eyes were lifted from a fresh kill as canine ears swiveled toward the sound. A pair of violet quickly rose to follow the other's line of sight, but there was little they could do for the feline everyone thought had died months ago. Everyone except for a single werewolf bent on the feline's destruction. Scarred, greying lips pulled back into a cruel and mocking grin as the monster listened to the cat's agony.

The once mighty deity internally cursed this man, hissing and spitting and snarling like the werepanther he was as he felt himself draw nearer to the human. For all his fighting, the only sounds that were permitted to escape the feline were wretched gurgling grunts, dying in his throat and never allowed to make it passed his lips. Grimmjow's honed muscles quivered and flexed as he struggled to flee the cruel Caster's grasp upon his soul, but he was at his weakest, while this human was at his strongest.

A soft chuckle met his sensitive ears as his mind seemed to snap and tear in two and he felt himself bow before this cruel human through the searing pain. Cyan shone with dread and helpless understanding, obediently trained on the floor, as the malevolent Caster finished his ruthless and merciless binding of the proud werepanther.

Grimmjow didn't know how long he had kneeled before the human, the most horrendous of monsters, as he struggled against the man's terrible power, but by the time he finally ran out of strength, the once-mighty creature lay on the hard packed floor of his temple unable to rise as if a crushing weight were pressing down on him. He struggled to draw breath, each exhale sending a little puff of dust floating away like his will and freedom. Unable to so much as turn his head, the werepanther lost sight of the evil human Caster as the man circled around him like a shark.

The rustling of cloth and leather reached his feline ears before the pungent and dangerous scent of silver wafted through the air of his temple. Grimmjow peeled back his lips, baring his teeth as a hiss crawled up his throat.

A mere chuckle was his answer before the receding footsteps of the human began crossing the space of the temple's interior, heading away from him and ascending the raised dais. "You're going to be quite the defiant one, aren't you?"

Grimmjow grunted, a wince crossing his features as the man rapped the back of his knuckles against the armrest of his throne. There was nothing but malice and cold calculation in the man's touch; a prelude to how the next several years would be for the Fallen deidad.

"Still, I expected more of a struggle from you" The man continued. He scratched the tapered point of a silver, ritual dagger against the unyielding surface of the creature's throne, watching as the feline struggled to writhe in discomfort and pain on the floor before the raised dais, sharp fangs bared and talon like claws carving little trenches into the dirt. "But then, you had already been weakened and broken before I found you."

The human raised the dagger above his head and, with all his strength, drove it as deep as he could into back of the mighty throne. A gentle smile rested on his thin lips as he listened to the pained shriek that escaped the werepanther as the burn of the silver flowed from the linked chair to the creature that would never again sit upon it.

As the sharp fire from the initial piercing, nearly enough to strip his resurrection from him, died down, Grimmjow's feline eyes widened as he realized the human intended to leave the dagger where it was imbedded. It would be a constant source of burning pressure, a distraction and a way to bleed his power from him to insure he couldn't recover enough to break the binding. He tried to voice his fury and distress, but the human Caster denied him the right and the yowl died in his throat as a pitiful and broken whine.

Grimmjow, reduced to a mere beast and controlled by the malevolent Caster, was forced to climb to his feet even as his weakened and malnourished form shook under the simple strain of gravity. He was tugged along behind the human as the man confidently strode from the temple and out into the temperate predawn. The leash wrapped around his mind and soul, binding him to the Caster's will, was stronger than any physical chain and cut deeper than a silver blade.

The man mounted a tall, white horse that had been tied to a tree while he had been in the great temple. The beast snorted and shied away from the Fallen werepanther but was easily stilled when the human grabbed hold of the reins. They traversed mile after mile, their pace steadily slowing as the feline's battered system began giving out once again, even under the human's control. Grimmjow was forcibly stripped of his resurrection, the human having enough knowledge to figure out how to force it from him. He whined, gritting and baring his teeth as he fell to the earth in human form, unable to hold himself up after the painful, tiring and unnatural transformation. The feline was hauled to his feet, his body betraying him and doing it's best to aid the human as it was commanded to.

The human, a slight smile pulling at his features, tsked the Fallen deidad while he forced the bluenette onto the back of his horse. "I suppose I'll have to work on healing you a bit before we get to work." The man commented, almost to himself as if Grimmjow were a mere pet cat.

The feline, overpowered and wholly defeated, caught a glimpse of grey eyes shining in the darkened forest. Once brilliant blue locked onto cloudy, sorrow filled grey for a moment, before falling to look at the dirt below the horse's hooves. Unable to struggle against the human that had bound him so throughly, Grimmjow could only wish for a swift death he knew he wouldn't be granted. He would be denied a reunion with his followers. Instead, his punishment would be to serve under this cruel human, to have his freedom, his will, his strength and everything other than his life stripped from him.

In the days and weeks that followed, the Fallen deidad was locked away, hidden in what he assumed was the human Caster's home. Deposited on the stone floor of a dank little room, he had been given a bowl of water like some mutt and once a day was brought the carcass of whatever creature the human killed or found to feed from. Grimmjow was forced to sit still while the human tended to his wounds with none to gentle hands. Bones were mended, cuts and gashes sewn. He had been granted his resurrection back, making his healing process that much swifter, but he would later find out it was only because the Caster had need of his larger, stronger and more intimidating form. His once lustrous blue-black coat was matted and dirty. The silver from the dagger that had been thrust through his throne constantly burned and irritated at the back of his mind, keeping him complacent and not allowing him to struggle against the binding with much energy or strength. But he would never give up. La Pantera was no one's servant.

After more than a month of silent torment for the untamable creature, the Caster slipped up. Lulled into a routine of obedience from the still recovering werepanther, he threw open the door to the cellar like space he was keeping his new pet, his intent to bring the beast out and with him to take care of a few things he needed to deal with. What he didn't realize was that Grimmjow, while being a werecreature, did not work quite the same way, mentally or physically, as a werewolf, a creature this Caster had bound to his will many times before.

Grimmjow's inhuman hearing picked up the footsteps of the human as the man neared the warded door. Keen, cyan eyes narrowed as the werepanther concentrated on keeping the binding leash between him and the human calm. There was a narrow gap, a missing link in the chain, that the human had missed while binding the injured, nearly dead deidad. As the door was thrown open, the feline used his renewed strength and healed muscles to propel himself toward the man. Easily catching him off guard, his much larger body threw the man to the ground before he had even finished opening the portal.

Sharp, hooked talons shredded the leather riding cloak the man wore, biting into flesh. Grimmjow snarled and bared wicked teeth, his cerulean orbs glowing and dancing with cold fire.

The human's pained scream drew the attention of whomever he had brought to his home with him. A gun fired, the crude gunpowder billowing blueish in the shadowed light filtering through the tree branches over head. The slug hit it's mark, ripping into muscle and lodging along the werepanther's scapula. It stung but would do no permanent damage. Grimmjow, overwhelmed and fearful from his ordeal with the evil Caster, wanted nothing more than to flee into his forest and disappear, but he knew that should he leave this human alive, he would be found. The leash upon his soul and will would drag him right back into the Caster's clutches, where he would be forced to bow in servitude yet again.

As he was preparing to strike again, a blow that would have destroyed the human and consequentially the magical binding, the human pulled a silver knife from the confines of his cloak. The blade was thrust up, sinking between his ribs and ripping an agonized yelp from the werepanther. Grimmjow threw himself backward, off the silver blade and away from the human as he crumpled to the ground. He writhed and clawed at the ground, desperate to get away even as his howling turned to screaming and his matted black fur gave way to tanned flesh. The screams were cut off abruptly as the Caster climbed to his feet, hands clutching at the torn flesh of his chest.

Grimmjow whimpered almost silently as he was commanded to his knees, unable to resist the call no matter how much he struggled, his opportunity for freedom lost. As he pushed himself up to a kneeling position, eyes directed on the ground before him, the cruel Caster moved to stand directly in front of him.

"I suppose I must be more careful with a wild beast" The human spat at him, his voice somehow sounding calm and enraged simultaneously. He chanted a few words under his breath, happy when the kneeling bluenette jerked and flinched where he cowered, able to feel the invasive magic. "Who is your master, Grimmjow?"

The feline snarled as the tug on his mind became a forceful yank when his name tumbled from the despicable human's lips. Still, he resisted, snarling and hissing, hardly able to force the sounds out. When he failed to answer, the human asked again, pushing more force into his words. Stronger than any physical blow the feline had ever felt, he was thrown to ground by the sheer power of the Caster's magic.

"Who do you belong to?"

Grimmjow panted as he lay on the ground, the crushing weight of the man's binding spell enough to constrict his breathing. "Y...you, Aizen." He grit out, deep voice quivering slightly and the words leaving a disgusting taste in his mouth.

The pressure increased, feeling as though it would crush him in his human form. "Who?" The Caster repeated.

The feline squeezed his unearthly blue eyes closed, human hands digging at the earth as he writhed under the painful pressure of the Caster's magic. "You, Aizen...sama"

"Good boy."

The pressure relented, allowing the bluenette to suck in a deep breath and struggle back to his knees, where he was halted once again.

"Mah mah, Sir. Quite the new pet ya got yer hands on"

"Indeed." Aizen turned to leave, the shredded slashes in his chest demanding attention. Before he went though, he had one more thing to deal with. "Grimmjow, back to your were-form." He commanded.

The bluenette grit his teeth as he forced his veer and struggled through the burning presence of the silver lodged in his throne. Once finally back in his resurrection, the Caster sent him off on the first of many missions he would be forced to partake in over the next year. He would be commanded to kill, threaten, maim and torture countless humans, innocent and not, so that the malevolent Caster could gain from his actions. All the while, Grimmjow would be unable to halt his actions as he watched himself carry out the human's orders.

When he wasn't doing the malevolent Caster's deeds, he was shackled to the stone wall and floor of the what had become his cage, the dank little room he had been imprisoned in. But the human wasn't taking chances anymore. Chains wrapped his wrists and ankles, keeping him upright and unmoving until he was released. Another chain wrapped around his throat, holding his head back and keeping his dangerous jaws away from the human whenever Aizen came to him. The chains were unbreakable to the Fallen deidad, even had he the ability to break the Caster's binding, for they were magically sealed against the feline's natural strength.

He was used as a weapon, thrown at opponent after opponent. Sickle shaped claws tore flesh and muscle away from bone. Feline fangs and teeth sank deep, snuffing the life out of the Caster's enemies. The werepanther's inhuman strength and senses insured no one walked away, no one hid from Aizen. No one survived. The Caster hardly had to lift a finger to destroy and conquer his enemies. The creature bound to his will was among the strongest he could have ever hoped to capture.

But his enemies, Grimmjow's opponents, didn't fall willingly, didn't just lay down in the face of his abused power. They fought for their lives, terrified in the face of the viscous werepanther with fierce, glowing blue eyes. Most failed to see the pain and regret that swirled openly in his crystalline orbs. The once mighty deidad would unwillingly drag himself back to the Caster after each murder, bullet wounds and lead littering his hide. Cuts and gashes would bleed freely, matting his already mangy and unkept coat. Bones would break, only to have the Caster force mend them later that night, after he had deemed the feline had suffered from the crippling wounds long enough. And with the silver dagger ever imbedded in his throne so far away, Grimmjow's own natural healing ability was greatly reduced and he was forced to wait for the cruel human to heal him, just so that he could be used again.

Occasionally he would be thrown at another Caster and the resulting battle would always be devastating with worse wounds to match. He could only hope that one would show him mercy and manage to destroy him. But it never happened. Magic was hurled his way, singing fur and damaging organs but no Caster was a match for Aizen's nearly immortal, personal killing machine.

At one point, he was forced to kill a benevolent and intelligent Caster, something he would regret for the rest of his life. The woman had recognized his plight for what it was, understanding and sorrow shining in her kind eyes as she desperately evaded his attacks while trying not to harm him in return. She had felt that he was bound, that he had no desire to do the things he was forced to and she had searched for a way to sever the link, speaking to him in kind words and apologizing for the few castings that she was forced to send his way to halt his deadly claws. She had even gone so far as to better heal the injuries Aizen had poorly mended. In the end, Grimmjow whined, silently apologizing while he tore into her body and drained the life from the woman that had been trying to help him. She had smiled, blood dripping down her chin, and gently threaded her shaking fingers through the thick fur behind his ear while his jaws clamped around her throat and squeezed, whispered, choked words of understanding and forgiveness falling from her lips. Grimmjow had squeezed his eyes shut against the horrible scene before him but her dying words would never leave him.

It was the first he had been treated as more than a mere monster since his will had been bound, and it was the last it would happen for a very long time to come. As a new year was ushered in, weeks would blend into months.

Grimmjow was forced to hunt down and kill more of his human master's enemies. He accompanied and escorted the Caster when the man traveled or held meetings with other powerful and ultimately evil humans, a mindless beast to be the man's personal body guard. Nothing escaped Aizen's cat's attention; and that's all he was. The Caster's glorified, terrifying pet. Sharp, blue eyes spelled death for those that would attempt the man's life. Who would dare go against a powerful Caster with several hundred pounds of sleek muscle and notoriously fierce loyalty standing at his side obediently and always ready to sink massive fangs into flesh? No one had to know it was a forced loyalty.

Months bled away, slowly creeping into yet another anguish and pain filled year.

The werepanther's absence in his forest territory didn't go unnoticed. The only place left truly untouched was his temple, protected by the natural aura it held that drove most creatures away by their own instincts. The few stray wolves that had managed to survive the battle, seemingly so long ago now, lurked about and thought to take the territory for themselves, hunting and slaughtering the many natural born animals that had taken refuge in the once protected forest. The future leader of the werewolf pack thought otherwise.

Starrk insured the feline's territory remained his own, hoping that Grimmjow would find his way soon. His hatred for the cat had never run as deeply as it had in his brethren's minds and hearts. It had only ever been a farce, a simple, natural rivalry between canine and feline to him. So he watched from the shadows as the once mighty La Pantera was reduced to a servant and used against his will, unable to interfere lest he be killed by the powerful human Caster or worse, share the feline's fate.

The wolf's sorrow was only redoubled as he watched the feline, time and time again, drag himself back to the Caster, bloody and beaten from a fight and victory he did not want nor enjoy. He listened to the pained and anguished noises that were permitted to rise from the werepanther's throat, if only to amuse the Caster, when the human reasserted his ownership or force healed the cat's many wounds. Sometimes they would be quiet grunts or strained snarls, other times they would be the screaming that could only be associated with the feline's human form. The sounds haunted Starrk while he desperately sought a way to help the feline without gaining the evil Caster's attention.

Every so often, Grimmjow would catch a whiff of the lurking wolf as the wind shifted. He had known the mutt had been hovering near by. The wolf that would one day very soon become the Alpha of the Pack had done nothing to conceal his presence from the feline and even though they were supposed to be sworn enemies, Grimmjow couldn't help but fear that the wolf would be found by Aizen one day. So he ignored Starrk in hopes that he wouldn't point the werewolf out for the cruel Caster to notice. It was the only thing he could do to protect the foolish mutt.

Alas, it was not meant to be. Aizen was more powerful and intelligent than that and the magical wards he had placed about his home had easily picked up the intruding werewolf. He bid his time, waiting to see what the creature would do but his pet ignored it and it seemed the canine was too intelligent to come to him. It seemed he would have to take matters into his own hands, and by his own hands, he meant Grimmjow's.

Grimmjow curled his lip as his name was called, echoing dully off the walls of Aizen's keep. He grudgingly pulled himself off the floor, where he had been allowed to collapse and fall into a dazed state that passed for sleep ever since he had been bound. He bared his teeth, ears pinned back in silent and indignant fury as he limped toward the sound of his master's voice. The half healed wounds he had received from the prior night ached and burned as he answered the Caster's summon, his long, slim tail trailing limply behind him, nearly dragging the floor he held it so low.

The Caster sat in his study, a book opened in his lap and a warm fire lit behind him. His odd, silver haired friend, nearly inseparable from the Caster, sat in a chair opposite the Caster's own. He turned in his chair, looking over his shoulder as slightly dragging footsteps halted near the door behind him.

Grimmjow grit his teeth and hissed quietly as he kneeled in the door way, head bowed obediently. His once wild eyes reflected very little, reduced to shimmering with contempt and bitter hatred, agony and anguish just below. The tip of his tail flicked in feline agitation but he was powerless to defy the Caster's wishes.

"There's something I'd like you to take care, Grimmjow" The Caster's voice was his usual calm, almost polite tone, hiding the undercurrent of his commanding power.

The Fallen deity instinctively bristled, feeling the bind around his will tug with the human's words. The Caster's only reaction was a slight quirk of a single brow, a subtle curve still tilting his lips as he felt the slight resistance the feline creature gave. Sometimes, he doubted the wild beast even realized he still struggled against the binding after all this time. It seemed a natural thing. Resistance was ingrained in the creatures very disposition.

"Don't ya think ya should finish healin' him before you send him out again?" The man's friend questioned, taking in the werepanther's battered state. He himself was not a Caster, and so could not help and didn't really know how magic worked, but he did know the beast looked to have seen better days.

"There's no need to worry for a tool, Gin. In any case, I'm almost done with him, it hardly matters." The words held a finality that gave away what he had planned for when the werecat's use ran out. A few more pieces on his chess board to eliminate, and Aizen would be in a position to rise to even greater power, to become like the deity he had helped destroy. "We seem to have an unwanted visitor, a werewolf that's been sniffing a bit too closely. Take care of it for me, Grimmjow."

The feline's blood ran cold and he snarled, forcing himself to lift his gaze away from the floor to let his piercing blue gaze bore into the human, the barest hint of his usual fire dancing in their depths. He was resigned to death after his time of servitude was at it's end, he yearned for it and hoped that he was not too late to rejoin the human followers he had left behind so long ago, but he had no intention of harming the wolf he had inadvertently come to know just a little bit better over the time the mutt hovered near by. Even without exchanged words and even though he should have loathed the mongrel, the wolf had become a source of comfort, something solid and wild that lent it's silent strength to him.

Aizen calmly shut his book and laid it on the desk near by. He climbed to his feet without a word, pleased with the way the once-mighty beast before him flinched slightly as his power engulfed and flooded the room. He released a bit more pressure, talented and skilled enough to do so without words and therefore without warning.

The extra push was enough to drop Grimmjow back to his knees, his shoulders and back bowed as he struggled against the weight of the magic wrapped around his soul. Before he realized what was going on, the werepanther found himself outside, nose to the air as he searched out the wolf. Stalking into the surrounding forest, his pained limp pronounced as he traversed the uneven ground, it didn't take long for the larger werewolf to come into view.

Starrk edged from his hiding place among the trees, wary of the feline suddenly paying him attention. He took in the feline's ragged state and knew that had Grimmjow had control of himself, he wouldn't have bothered dragging himself from wherever he had been laying. The werepanther was in no state to fight. Against a human, perhaps; but certainly not against a member of the larger werewolf species.

As the feline lunged, swift even in his injured state, Starrk leapt out of range. He watched the cat's movements; graceful though not quite as much so as usual. The wolf noticed how he favored certain areas, working to keep the strain off his more severe injuries. He also noted the way the feline seemed to hesitate before he came in for an attack and knew he was doing all he could to fight the powerful command he was forced to follow. It was a silent struggle, the evidence only there for those who knew what to look for, for those not too terrified to see that the werepanther loathed what he was doing.

Starrk fell backward, nearly tripping as hooked claws tore at his abdomen, leaving shallow gashes in their wake. "How can I help you, cat?" The werewolf said, more to himself than to the bound feline. No one, man or monster, deserved the fate the panther had been dealt. To have one's free will and freedom stripped away was a fate worse than death, especially to a proud and wild creature.

Grimmjow knew he wasn't really meant to hear the wolf, but his keen hearing picked up the words nonetheless. Glacial cyan eyes closed briefly in regret and memory even as his body surged forward again, seeking an opening in the wolf's defenses.

The larger wolf could have made quick work of killing the less than healthy feline had he the desire to do so, but Starrk couldn't bring himself to do that. Instead, he worked on making the battered cat work to get to him. He dodged and blocked, rarely sending a counter attack back. He exaggerated his retreats, forced the feline to move about and expend more energy, he wore the werepanther out and drained his already low reserve.

After nearly a half hour, Grimmjow's pathetic state allowed him to fight no more and he nearly collapsed, managing to catch hold of a tree to support his weight. He panted as a slight whine escaped, his eyes showing his understanding of what Starrk had been doing.

Edging closer, caution and care in his step, Starrk neared the Fallen deidad, sure to stay out of immediate strike range. He had no desire to test just how strong the Caster's control was over the feline. "Fight just a little harder." Starrk said, his deep, rumbling voice soft as he urged the degraded and pitiful werecat. "Tell me how to help. Could another Caster break the bind? What if the human was dead?"

Grimmjow whined again, his jaw clenching as he struggled against the Caster's command. His lips peeled away from his teeth in an aggressive expression but instead of snarling or growling, words managed to crawl from his throat and pass between his clenched fangs. "F...lee...leave..."

The very air seemed to thicken and Grimmjow gasped as he finished collapsing to the ground, the Caster's stifling magic gripping around his body like a vice. As the man came into view, the feline's eyes widened and darted back to Starrk's form. He snarled as he clawed at the ground, digging furrows through the loose earth.

"Must I do it myself?" The Caster asked as he watched the large werewolf slowly straighten to it's full hight and take a single step away from the downed feline and the human that neared them.

"Run" Grimmjow growled out as loudly as he could. The consequences for his resistance were great. With a flick of his wrist, the Caster sent the injured feline sliding across the ground until bone and muscle met cruelly with the unyielding trunk of a tree.

Starrk watched as the feline's body stilled at the base of the tree, the only thing to show he lived was the ragged rise and fall of his chest. The wolf turned to pin the human with stormy grey eyes, fury like roiling clouds clearly shining in their depths. He bared massive fangs in obvious threat and anger while he lowered slightly into a ready stance that would allow for an attack or retreat. The slight smile on the human's face unnerved him and sent chills down his spine but he would be damned if he didn't try to help the Fallen creature. He may not have been human, but he certainly wasn't a monster, nor was he cruel.

Hackles raised and a menacing growl escaping from canine jaws, Starrk prepared to attack. He glanced at the struggling werepanther, seeing the feline's muscled arms shake under his weight as he pushed himself from the ground. "Deidad..." He addressed the werecat as he stared down the intimidating and powerful Caster.

Grimmjow understood the unfinished question and request. The stubborn wolf wasn't going to leave until he learned how to liberate the feline and help him escape from the Caster's grasp. A silent command infiltrated his mind, beckoning him to begin his attack anew. The unspoken command wasn't as powerful as words, but it still weighted heavily on his will.

As a feline snarl rumbled through the trees, Aizen rose a single brow at his pet's disobedience and continued resistance. Then he smirked, a new idea coming to mind. The feline would need punished, but more than a simple beating. "Grimmjow, get rid of the wolf for me. In your human form" He would forcibly strip the werecreature of his resurrection, already a terribly painful ordeal with the silver that ever weighed on the feline's mind. Pitting the werepanther turned man against a werewolf was nearly a promise of death, cruel and horribly unfair. And the spoken command held much more power than a silent one.

Grimmjow's snarl died in his throat as his body began trembling with the force of the command. He threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut, a pained howl shattering the relative quiet. On the scream, as dirtied black fur peeled away and Grimmjow fell to earth once again, shivering and jerking as wave after wave of crippling magic washed over him, words managed to form. A denial of the Caster's wishes tumbled from the bluenette's lips. "N...no...I wont..."

Remaining as calm and controlled as ever, Aizen silently sent another casting through the air, aimed in his disobedient pet's direction.

The blue haired man writhed in the dirt, body folding in on it's self as the intensity of the magic coursing through him increased. It wasn't a command. The malevolent Caster hadn't ordered him again after he had went against the first. The human was simply showing his power, driving magic into the battered feline because he could. The casting burned like the worst silver, needles of power pierced his flesh and shot through muscle. It sank deep and seemed to slice through organs and chip at bone. Grimmjow screamed in agony, unable to stop himself.

He vaguely heard the werewolf's growling as the beast circled nearer to him. The feline jerked his head in the mutt's direction and once again forced words to interrupt the screaming. "M..my temple..." He gasped, a pleading tone to his words, desperate to convey to the wolf what he needed done. If only he could get rid of the silver dagger imbedded in his throne, sending it's wicked bite through the chair to it's owner.

"My...throne" But even if the wolf did enter his temple and find the silver dagger that blemished the perfect stone of his grand throne, the werewolf would be unable to pull it from it's place. Silver was much more potent to the canine race, deadly to even touch for too long.

Starrk easily heard the strain in the feline's voice. It was the closest thing to begging he would ever hear from the proud werecat in their long history. He didn't understand what Grimmjow was trying to tell him, only that something about his throne would possibly aid the Fallen deidad and with Aizen's momentary distraction out of the way and the powerful Caster's sights trained back on the werewolf, Starrk was forced to make a choice. He could stay and try to kill the Caster, hopefully breaking the binding in the process, risking a similar fate for himself, or he could flee. To flee would give him time to figure out what Grimmjow was trying to convey, but it was time the feline may not have.

With a quiet but heartfelt apology and promise to the feline and a deep, rumbling snarl to the human, Starrk backed away before turning and darting off into the trees. As he fled, headed back toward the safety of his own territory, the feline's agonized and hate filled screams echoed through the forest.

It would take days for Grimmjow to recover from the magical torture Aizen had called punishment. He was left chained to a wall once again to tremble in his misery while his weakened and hindered body recovered enough for the Caster to send him out again. What he didn't know was that the wolf he would soon come to know by name refused to turn his back on the feline, his canine loyalty already extended to encompass the werepanther as well.

Grimmjow hung his head, his feline ears seeming to hang as well. He stood upright, but only because the warded chains securing him to the wall insured that he had too. Had he been at full health and power, ripping the very chains from the wall would have been an easy task. As it was however, he was utterly defeated and beginning to give up on his freedom.

The only outward sign that the feline even heard the approaching footsteps was a slight flicking of his strangely colored ears, seemingly more to dispel the sound than discern who or what it was. Blue eyes remained trained sightlessly at the damp floor below him as the human opened the door to his cell. The sudden increase of light was an irritant but he didn't bother to show it. The only acknowledgement Aizen received from his pet was a lazy barring of teeth while Grimmjow still didn't bother to look up at the human, simply flashing his fangs toward the dirty stone floor.

Aizen chuckled quietly, pleased that it seemed he may have finally tamed the wild beast, if only somewhat. It was a shame he wouldn't have need of the feline for much longer. The Caster dispelled the warding seals from the chains before unlocking them and bidding the werepanther to follow him.

Grimmjow did as he was told. As he silently followed behind the Caster, unable to focus on what the man was saying since it hadn't been spoken laced with magic, something scrapped at his mind. Eyes widening, Grimmjow's entire body jerked, making him stumble as the catch in his mind repeated with more intensity.

The human looked back at him, an ever so slight frown tilting his lips. The link that bound the feline's will to him had allowed him to feel as the cat's mind seemed to awaken from the dazed state he had been in, but he had failed to feel what the cat had felt. Aizen's over confidence made him dismiss the event and he attributed the large feline's stumble as a result of his poor condition.

The werepanther fought to not react outwardly as the scraping along his throne continued, filtering through his mind and snagging here and there. The touch wasn't malevolent or painful the way the Caster's had been. It was...clumsy in a way, hurried but still gentle, like whatever or whoever was touching it didn't understand the link between the great chair and the creature that once occupied it.

A burning pain flashed through his mind, whitening his vision and stealing his breath as the silver residue from the dagger he had nearly grown used to was shifted within it's stone sheath. In front of him, the human paused to look back at him once again as the feline froze in place. As the silver dagger continued to be shifted about, worked back and forth to scrape and grind along the stone back of the throne, a keening growl flitted from Grimmjow's throat, rumbling the air in the corridor. He bared his teeth, the muscle of his still corded body tensing and flexing as he fought to hold onto his resurrection.

Aizen did feel that. The link he created when he bound the werecreature to his will trembled along with the feline as his ritual dagger was jerked and moved about in the stone. The human's confusion only lasted a brief second before he realized someone was attempting to pull it from the throne. He quickly called his considerable power closer to him as he felt the once mighty werepanther begin to resist the binding with a new determination.

The beast snarled and hissed, his deep baritone echoing off the stone walls and flooring of the corridor. The growling was uneven and tinged with desperation but Grimmjow refused to give up yet again. He didn't know how the wolf had managed to find a way to touch the dagger, he may never know, but it didn't matter. He wasn't about to miss his opportunity at regaining his freedom.

As the dagger was finally yanked free and the silver that had been poisoning the feline's mind and bleeding his power disappeared, Grimmjow snapped the invisible leash that had been circled around his throat. The force of it nearly knocked him from his feet but his head raised, ears back and teeth bared, to pin the evil human with blue eyes so intense they glowed with a fire that had not been seen in a long while.

The Caster cursed nearly silently under his breath as he felt the binding shatter. He scrambled to pull his magic to him and strengthen his prepared spell as he watched feline muscle tense under the beast's mangy coat.

Grimmjow launched as the Caster threw his magic toward him. Long, hooked claws dug and scraped into the polished stone floor, leaving grooved trails in their wake as Grimmjow pushed himself into motion. The human fell back with yelp in his haste to get away from the enraged creature.

Magic clashed with flesh and bone, the force enough to send a weaker creature to the ground. Had the silver dagger still been in place, Grimmjow may not have made it through the waves that crashed into and through him. Still weakened and in desperate need of real healing after countless hours, month after month of torment and battle, the werepanther pushed through with sheer stubborn hatred for the man before him.

The human Caster was thrown to the ground, several hundred pounds of angry cat landing on top of him. The clash was brutal and bloody, snarling growls rising from the feline's throat to fill the halls. The human's own voice was quickly added to the cacophony as he struggled to fend off the cat. He lashed out with his magic but Grimmjow's ferocity gave him very little time to prepare any larger, more powerful spells.

Bestial snarling and human screaming had the Caster's odd friend sprinting down the corridor. Grimmjow hardly paid him any mind. Even as lead crashed into his ribcage and the room was filled with the smell of smoking gunpowder, he did no more than bare his fangs in the human's direction before continuing his assault on the Caster that had captured and bound him when he was at his weakest. The fire that light Grimmjow's eyes coursed through his very body, his very soul as he was finally under control of himself once more.

The human below him screamed out instructions to the other human, telling him where a silver dagger could be found. Grimmjow didn't bother paying attention. He was determined to see the end of this man.

He snarled and clamped powerful jaws around the Caster's arm as the man threw it up to block his throat, which had been Grimmjow's original target. So long as the human's blood filled his mouth, it didn't matter to the enraged feline. Taloned fingers spammed in their grip upon the human as another strong wave of crippling magic washed over him, sending fire through his nerves and dragging a strangled yelp from him. Still, Grimmjow would not be deterred.

By the time the silver haired human returned, the Caster's struggles had been reduced to a pitiful gurgling that worked up the man's throat, a growing pool of blood and gore spreading below him and further matting the feline's black coat.

Grimmjow panted, his body trembling with barely held rage and fatigue, and yanked the human's arm out of his way. The snap of bone made the corners of his lips quirk slightly and his tongue ran over pointed teeth before he latched his jaws around what his original target had been; the man's exposed throat. As his fangs puncture deep into the evil Caster's trachea, running steps approached from behind.

A sharp stab of pain lanced through his back, quickly followed by the burn of silver as lightening seemed to shoot through his spine. Grimmjow instantly retracted his jaws, howling in agony even as he spun about to face the second human. He dropped to his knees as his animalistic yowl turned into the deep voiced scream of a man. He was left shaking on his hands and knees as his resurrection was stripped away.

He didn't stay there for long as every instinct he possessed screamed for him to leave these men behind, flee the dark magic that was no longer binding him. Without hesitation, he listened to them. The bluenette scrambled to his bare feet, shaking as he stumbled against the wall before regaining his balance. The choking wheeze coming from the mangled Caster promised that the man wouldn't survive and that thought comforted the once mighty deidad as he skidded around a corner and to the door of the human's home.

As he threw the heavy door open, he struggled to reach behind him for the blade that still sank deep beside his spine. He squeezed his brilliantly colored eyes closed, a silent scream twisting his angular features as he grasped the handle in trembling fingers and ripped the blade from his body. The silver dagger dropped to the ground with a thump. Grimmjow stumbled a few feet more, making it to the tree line before his fatigue, injuries and the years' worth of being bound finally caught up to him. As he collapsed, still in his human form, stormy grey eyes, a near match to the overcast sky filled his vision before all went dark.

Grimmjow would awaken the next day, propped up in his mighty throne and free once more. It would be months before he ran across signs of the wolf that had dared help him against the cruel Caster that had taken advantage of him and even longer before he learned the mutt's name. Starrk would have taken control of the Pack by then and neither would speak as they studied each other from afar, a silent understanding and pact born in the moments of silence that passed between two powerful, wild creatures.

The werepanther, black as the midnight hour he stalked, would disappear, vanishing from both the view and minds of the humans, taking with him the god he once was. La Pantera would live on in legends and myths, bedtime stories and whispered rumors for generations to come. Scarred from his ordeal with the malevolent and horrible Caster, Grimmjow would live in solitude and silence until one fateful night when he would stumble across another Caster and his twin and his world would be turned upside down yet again.

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><p><strong>I hope I was able to appease your curiosity~! Now you know what happened to poor Grimmjow long before he met Ichigo and Shiro<strong>

**Let me know what you thought!  
><strong>


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